


Big Isn't Beautiful

by JeanValJean



Series: The Making of Us [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anorexia, Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7197998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanValJean/pseuds/JeanValJean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Big. Fat. Lard-ass. Chubby. Loser. Gross. Sweaty. Double D. Walking Thumb.<br/>Ugly. Unwanted. Useless.<br/>So, so fucking tired.</p><p>How else could one describe living with a demon that smiles back at you in photographs and smashes mirrors when they see what they don't want to see?<br/>___</p><p>Jean's backstory of ATIA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Isn't Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: Big Isn't Beautiful - King Adora
> 
> Alt. summary: kids are fucking cruel.
> 
> Side note: life is fucking unfair, and I sincerely apologise to everyone out there who clicked on this because they found a story they could relate to. I hope you find peace with your body soon enough, and that you find it responsibly.
> 
> Stay safe. xx

Trost. 2011 - 2014  
Jean Kirschtein. 15 - 18 Years Old.  
68kg/149lbs  
Diagnosis: Anorexia Nervosa, Depression.  
___

The weight of his burden was all too much to carry; and what a weighing burden it was. Every breath he took, every word he heard and felt wrap tight around his heart reminded him that he would never amount to anything, that his weight would hold him back and keep his heavy feet planted firmly to the one spot for the rest of his miserable life.

He'd never amount to anything, not when he had all this baggage. He could never change in the locker rooms with the other boys at school, could never really be happen when his mother bought him new clothes, could never accept invitations to go out with the people he dared to call his friends. School was like Hell, dragging him down along with every other kid who was told they wouldn't ever amount to anything. Some didn't even have to be told - they just knew.

He hated it. He hated knowing that everything he was doing was for naught, because he'd never be an actor or an artist or even a freaking mathematician. He couldn't do anything, not when he'd have to go for an interview wearing clothes that clung too tightly to his wide frame, accentuating his rolls and his imperfections. And he had a lot of those.

What would he even put on his resume to even be considered for a job?

Big. Fat. Lard-ass. Chubby. Loser. Gross. Sweaty. Double D. Walking Thumb.

Ugly. Unwanted. Useless.

So, _so_ fucking tired.

As a child, Jean was happy. It didn't matter that he was a little heavier than the other kids, because he had a handful of good friends and two parents that loved him more than words could ever express. He could be a kid and love it, get into fights at a loss or win and come out on equal ground. He could eat whatever he wanted and not feel every calorie sliding down his throat, sitting like helpless mush in his stomach until he couldn't hold any more.

He didn't want to feel empty. He enjoyed feeling full, and the success of being able to win binging competitions with his friends; the friends who weren't as big as him, who couldn't eat as much as him, but enjoyed his company nonetheless. Friends that wouldn't judge him if he ate three quarters of a shared pizza at sleepovers, or who stood beside the snack table whenever there was one.

And then they grew. Each of his classmates grew to all sorts of shapes and sizes; but Jean the most. Whilst his friends grew up, he grew out. It seemed that for every millimetre he gained on height, he gained triple that on width.

And people started to notice. But not the way that Jean noticed their changes. They weren't in awe of his growth like he was of theirs. They didn't ogle his muscles, or compare facial hair as puberty hit; they were disgusted.

Suddenly, as mirrors became objects of torture and the scale an object of affection, Jean Kirschtein wasn't such a happy child anymore.

 

* * *

 

"Miss! Could we rearrange the classroom this week? I can't see the whiteboard."

A few people snickered behind him, but Jean payed it no mind. He could see the whiteboard fine, why couldn't they? He was sure that he could see it when he sat behind other people too. They weren't that short, and he wasn't that tall.

The teacher tutted, shifting her minimal weight to one leg and raising an eyebrow at the row of boys behind Jean. "Why do we need to move the classroom around this time, Malcolm? You asked this last week too. We can't keep disrupting our learning because you're not happy with the seating plan."

He whined. "I can't see around fat ass, Miss."

Roars of laughter filled the small classroom, and if Jean hadn't felt big when he first sat down, he suddenly felt huge. Swallowing heavily, feeling all eyes on him, ignoring the teachers chiding of the raucous behaviour, Jean shakily stood to his feet.

"I'll move to the back. It's okay."

It wasn't okay. He felt terrible. But what more could he do? His mother often complained about fat people driving cars, and fat people eating, and fat people thinking they owned the world; he didn't need others to think that as well.

He manoeuvred his way through the rows, apologising as his excess weight caused pencil cases to shift, and a drink bottle to fall to the floor. His cheeks reddened, and he couldn't help but whimper as he sat at the very back of the class with an empty seat to his left and the mentally challenged kid to his right.

It wasn't fair to say it, he knew that, but only the losers sat at the back. The unoccupied seat to his left belonged to a foreign student who couldn't speak English and hadn't made any friends due to language barriers, and the girl to his right had some form of autism that kept her drooling onto her messy work. She was nice, honestly, it was just that nobody liked her because she couldn't do the things they could.

Jean could relate to that. And what more could he say? This is where he belonged. But even these guys had somewhere to go where they didn't feel alone. Could the girl beside him even feel embarrassed? Did the foreign kid even care what people said behind their back, because they couldn't understand?

Was Jean just so overly sensitive that he was driving himself mad?

People would turn back to grin at him, to make him feel worse or to torment him with their silent smiles. That spot became Jean's default seat for the rest of the year. And when tenth grade rolled around, and his classes changed, and the rest of his friends slowly deserted him, he kept that same spot in every class.

Why change the routine? It was better to feel alone at the back of the room than to feel lonely surrounded by people, no matter how horrible they were. But horrible or not, they were right. He was a waste of space, and a fucking big one at that. He couldn't even bring himself to believe Eren Jaeger was still his friend. They'd been friends all their lives, living across the street from one another, but they'd grown distant.

He could see why. Anyone with eyeballs could see why.

Eren didn't grow much taller, but he became incredibly attractive. Some days he was thinner than others, or rocked up to school with a few bruises, accompanied by well thought reasons, and on one occasion a string of stitches. But he was nonetheless someone people liked.

Yeah. That was the thing. Eren was liked, loved even. People from all walks of life knew who he was, and none of them had anything bad to say about him. Not about his weight, not about his body, not about his face, not about his personality. It was all praise and love; even though Eren didn't appear to feel loved and praised sometimes, if him sitting out on the front steps of his house at some ungodly hour of the morning, tears streaming down his face, was anything to go by.

But Jean never said anything. He didn't want his fat-faced smile to drive away the one person who still spared him a kind glance in the hallway, or a genuine good morning when they passed each other on the way to school. It was the closest thing he had to proper human interaction, after all. Especially when summer break came around, and Eren would be out waiting for him to ask if he wanted to hang out.

It wouldn't be much, just a simple invitation to the park or to hang out and play video games. Jean wouldn't always say yes, preferring to stick to his routine and keep his wandering hands away from open kitchen cupboards. But when he did say yes, he always had a good time.

Eren was good for that. He's always been good encouragement, a good source of wisdom, no matter how crude. He'd been by Jean's side during some trying times, even if he didn't know everything, always letting him know that he'd be there for him, regardless of his weight.

But that didn't matter. Sure, other peoples' opinions of your looks are important, but if you can't love who you are, how can you expect anyone else to?

 

* * *

 

"Jean, honey." His mothers voice brought his mind back to the present, pushing all thoughts of self-loathing to the back of his mind. "You haven't touched your dinner."

No, but he wanted to. God did he want to. Delicious, butter coated baby potatoes dripping with gravy; seasoned gourmet lamb cutlets, a variety of roasted vegetables made by his mother just the way he'd always liked them. She'd spent so much time on this meal, celebrating his fathers' promotion, and he treated it like poison.

He deserved to feel the pain clenching his stomach muscles. He deserved to suffer, not only for the outcome, but for everything he was putting his family through. Not that they had noticed anything. At all. Had he even lost any weight? Was all of this suffering for nothing?

Jean sighed. "Sorry, mom... I'm, uh-"

"Are you feeling unwell?" She asked, voice raised so he could hear her at the other end of their excessively long glass dining table. "I understand you have exams coming up, but you need to eat darling. It'll help you keep the information in."

His father placed his knife and fork down, pausing to wipe his mouth. "It's essential to retain information, Jean." Of course, his mother had just said that. "Should we leave it in the oven for you to have later?"

Jean smiled inwardly. His father, always coming to the rescue; his silent saviour. "Y-yeah, that'd be nice... I'll try to eat some after my shower. It's just stress, you know. I want to do well 'n stuff."

Do well and stuff. That line always got them, especially his father. His parents exchanged brief glances, but it was already decided, so Jean excused himself and made his way up to his bedroom.

He sunk down onto his bed, bedroom door closing quietly behind him. That was the second dinner he'd skipped, seventh meal all up. And yet, daring to glance over at his reflection staring back at him from the large mirror of his wardrobe, he didn't appear to have lost any weight.

No one had even said anything, either. Surely he'd lost some weight, hadn't he? He'd been starving himself for two days straight, having to skull bottles and bottles of water to curb the gut wrenching growls emanating from his demanding intestine. Was it all for nothing? Was he doomed to be this fat, sickening creature for the rest of his life?

Of course he was.

There's always one offspring of a family of success that isn't successful in any way. And with the Kirschtein name being as big as it is, his father being as successful as he is, of course it would have to be Jean that's the failure. The big, fat failure.

He hates how that name sounds so fitting.

Jean showered, did forty jumping jacks, twenty sit-ups, twenty push-ups against the wall, and then made his way down to the kitchen. He tried not to go back down. Oh, how he tried. But when you've tried for such a seemingly long time to no avail, you tend to loose hope, get desperate. And Jean got desperate. He could hear his heartbeat loudly in his ears, reminding him of the hard work he was about to waste for a few mouthfuls of forbidden, fattening food.

But he'd take it slow. Chew thirty times, have a sip of water, get fuller faster. That wasn't so hard, was it? And then, after a quarter of the meal was gone, he would stop. He would have to stop, because he'd be full. Easy.

But he couldn't stop. He was mindless: taking his dinner out of the oven and scoffing it down as if it was the last meal he would ever eat. He didn't even use a knife and fork, only his hands.

Staring down at his first meal in two days, completely demolished, he felt sick. He could pinpoint the exact moment he lost control, but after having finished the meal completely, that moment is locked away in his mind, completely clouded by incessant chanting: fat, fat, fat; failure, failure, failure.

Big. Fat. Lard-ass. Chubby. Loser. Gross. Sweaty. Double D. Walking Thumb.

Ugly. Unwanted. Useless.

So, so fucking tired.

Jean said goodnight to his parents, made his way to bed, and stayed up until all hours of the morning loathing himself for being so weak, so gut-wrenchingly useless. He couldn't hold back the tears as his fingertips ghosts over his flabby stomach and ever-touching things.

 _How repulsive_ , he thought, snivelling underneath his comforter. _He couldn't even starve himself right._

- **x** -

"It's so stupid though. Like, a whole week between practice and the actual game? I'm not going to do any extra training in between, so it's all gonna be useless."

"Maybe say something to your coach then, if you're that pissed about it. But don't mention the not training on your own thing. I think that's the whole point of team sports, to you know, work together as a team at the same standard."

Eren Jaeger scoffed, tearing off another chunk of his sandwich as he and Jean sat beneath the shade of a large tree on the school oval. Jean could see people staring, could hear them whispering. They know. But what he thinks they know, Jean doesn't even know.

Eren waved to a few people who pass them by, some meaningful and others sickeningly sarcastic. Then he turned to Jean. "Where's your lunch?" He asked, nodding his head at Jean's empty lap.

"U-uh... Oh, you know. It's too much hassle in the mornings." Jean was breathless, achingly hungry. Day one all over again... "I usually eat a lot when I get home, anyways." Obviously, he can see that.

What person who starves themselves looks like it belongs in the deep depths of the ocean? Who wouldn't believe that Jean Fat-Ass Kirschtein doesn't eat his body weight in junk food when he gets home? They'd have to be mentally deficit to not believe it.

"Fair enough, I guess." Of course he'd believe that. Who couldn't believe that obvious fucking lie? No one, because the evidence that he eats a whole fucking lot is right on his very fucking body. "Wanna come back to my place after school? We can finish that movie you said you wanted to watch. Plus, mom's making roast or something, said she makes more than we can eat. You can stay for dinner."

Jean swallowed. _No. No. If I go over I won't leave and then I'll have to eat it and then I'm going to gain weigh_ t- "Yeah, sure." _Fucking idiot._

Jean's heart sank as the end of lunch bell rang, signalling the time to return to class. Eren smiled. "Great, I'll see you later." They walked in seperate directions, Eren heading to the oval already wearing his sports gear, and Jean heading in the direction of the school building. Eren got to work off his lunch, Jean got to sit through eighty minutes of his stomach demanding nutrition and a headache that rivalled the one the tormenting students surrounding him provided.

Class isn't that bad, at first. Jean got there reasonably early, taking his seat at the back of the class where nobody sat next to him, because two people dropped out and they just so happens to have been lumped with the seats beside him. Funny, he'd thought, maybe they dropped out because of him.

Now, seeing the way his thighs hang over the edge of the seat, Jean knows they'd left the class because of him. They probably couldn't even move out of their seats without his fat rubbing up against their own thin legs.

God... Why can't he do it? Why can't he loose weight? He tries and tries, and yet he always ends up giving in to food. Yet he knows he'll only feel like shit afterwards.

Does food really taste that good? Is he so fucking selfish that even just the scent of something edible drives him to long for it? There's no way he can keep living like this. Day after day, thin becomes a concept far further from him. But he wants to achieve it. He has to. Not just for himself, but for others too. Nobody can stand to look at a fat person, even just sitting in their damn chair. But everyone wants to look at a skinny person. Jean wants to be so thin that everyone comments on how much weight he's lost, how much better he looks.

Prom King Jaeger? Nope. Prom King Kirschtein. And his queen? Mikasa. Or Hannah from English Lit. Whoever! It wouldn't matter. They'd be looking at his bony figure anyway, whispering to each other, wishing they'd had the guts to ask him out when they had the chance.

Wouldn't whispers proclaiming how much weight he's lost, how much weight he should put on, be better than having them snicker about how much he needs to loose?

"Mr Kirschtein."

"S-sorry. Yes?"

"You're staring off into space again, and class started ten minutes ago. Open your workbook and proceed with last lessons criteria from the handout you were given early in the year."

"Yeah, okay. Sorry."

People laugh. Someone kicks the side of his chair. Heads over shoulders, grinning at him like sideshow clowns beckoning him to play their little game. But he'd never win.

He'll never win.

But he has to. Jean opens his workbook and tries to concentrate, but a voice in his head brings his attention back to just how heavy he is in the seat. The table creaks as he moves, as does the chair. His fat arms move against his sides like two slovenly loaves of dough. He hates himself. Why is that not enough motivation to stop eating?

Class ends; resisting that same old devilish temptation begins. Eren meets Jean at his locker, complaining about someone on the volleyball team trying to convince the others that Ymir gave him head in the locker room.

"It's like, really? She's Ymir. I think the last person to give someone locker room head would be her. Hell, I'd be a more likely candidate, you know?"

"I guess."

Eren quirked an eyebrow, his school bag slung over one shoulder as they walk to the crossing, jabbing at the button angrily. "What's wrong with you? You've been sour all day."

Jean shrugged. "It's nothing... I'm just swamped with assignments and exams and stuff. You know how it gets at the end of the semester."

"No... I don't, really." Eren sighed as they reach another intersection, almost in relief. "I usually just get it done in class, or the night before. It leaves free time to de-stress snd sleep and stuff."

Divert the conversation. Jean chuckled. "That's because you're a lazy fuck. I actually want to get my work done."

"Hey!" Eren shoved Jean playfully as they cross the street, heading for Mrs Jaeger's car. "You're a real asshole sometimes, you know that? You can eat outside in the doghouse."

Like the animal you are, Jean wanted to finish. But he didn't. He grinned. He greeted Mrs Jaeger, and answered her questions about the school day with standard 'good's' and 'thank you's' and breathless chuckles when needed. He knows how to do this. He knows how to pretend that everything is okay, even when he wants nothing more than to lie in bed for the rest of his life and slowly rot away in the shadows.

Maybe then he'd loose just a little bit of weight. Or at least then nobody would be forced to feast their eyes on his unsightly, hideous person.

It doesn't take long for them to pull into Eren's driveway, but Jean reminds himself they would have been there quicker if Jean didn't have to heave his hefty legs around like weights, just to cross a few sets of lights.

The Jaeger home is just across the street from Jean's. It's a relatively small red-brick place with a dark cement wall, small garden, and drive-in garage. It's far smaller than Jean's mini-hotel-sized mansion, but something about it feels different.

He'd go as far as to call it homely, but not all the time. Sometimes it emanates the feelings of dread and emptiness that Jean's own home often feels, but other times, it feels as though the people in there are loved and feel loved.

Jean envied it.

"We're home!" Eren called out, dragging his backpack down the hall and into his bedroom. His mother left them on the corner of the street, exclaiming something about an appointment she's forgotten.

I follow him, listening out for someone to call back, but nobody does.

"Guess nobody's home," Eren sighed, taking my backpack from my hand and throwing it down beside his. "Want snacks? We've got a while before dinner, and I'm starved."

Jean thought. Hard. "No thanks, I'll just wait for dinner."

It's fine, it's fine. Good decision. You can wait.

Eren quirked an eyebrow. "There's no way you're not hungry." I know. I'm fat, I should always be hungry. I know, I know. "You didn't even eat lunch. I'd be on the verge of death if I hadn't eaten in that long."

That's because you're not fat, Eren. You're perfect. You're hungry because you have to be, I'm hungry because I deserve to take away the one thing my mindless body craves. Jean shrugs. "I'm just not hungry. Stressed, I guess."

Eren was unconvinced. "Fine, but I'm making you a hot chocolate at least. Okay?"

"I-...fine. Okay, yeah. Fine. No sugar though."

"Is everything okay?"

Jean stopped his pacing, unaware he'd ever even moved. His hands shook, his heart pounding; Eren was close to him, his hands braced on his shoulders. "Stressed. That's what I- what I said."

Eren's raised eyebrow were more than suspicion: it was concern. But that wouldn't stop Jean from brushing it off. It never ha before, and it never would. Behind every concern was suspicion of the truth.

"You're really not okay, are you." Eren's statement was clean and simple. He knew Jean wasn't okay, but how not-okay he was, Eren couldn't possibly comprehend.

Or maybe he could.

"I'm fine," Jean said, a little firmer this time. "School is just such a drag...and my parents want me to do well, for their sake, so I'm just a little- a little frustrated."

It wasn't a total lie. His parents were making him study his ass off and get good grades. They wanted him to pass the exams, to never fail a subject. But would they care if he failed at life afterwards? What good is a few letters on a piece of paper when you're thirty five, overweight, and living on government funds to binge on McDonald's after a long day at the office?

Eren backed away slowly, eyeing Jean up and down. Jean's mind screamed. Stop, stop, stop. Please look away. I don't need your fucking pity I'm pitiful enough as it is.

"You got laid."

Jean blanched. "What!? Why the hell would you come to that conclusion!"

Eren laughed, almost doubling over at Jean's expression. "So quick to defend yourself too! You make this too easy, Jean. Obviously you got laid because you're into dudes and you haven't sat down yet! That's a clear-as-day sign that you've had a ramrod up your poop chute-"

"Eren! For fucks sake!" Jean shouted, unable to help the laughter that spilt from his lips as he lunged at the shorter boy and slapped him upside the head. "I didn't get laid! Fuck! Keep your voice down, your mom's just upstairs!"

Eren laughed and brought Jean into a tight hug. They rocked slowly, almost subconsciously, until Jean pulled away and Eren took a deep breath. "It's good to see you laugh, Jean. Don't loose your laughter. There's no problem you can't overcome. Just...don't be afraid to talk about it, okay?"

Jean swallowed, nodding his head and wandering off into the living room as Eren makes himself a sandwich and the two of them hot chocolates. Jean feelt as though he was about to faint, or maybe just vomit, until his eyes landed on a picture-frame mounted just beside the TV.

It's Connie and some fat kid, both beaming at the camera with cliche stars in their eyes as they gorge themselves on what looks like birthday cake. Jean grimaced: he looks just like that fat kid.

Eren rounded the corner and groaned, placing the two mugs on the kitchen table. "Don't look at that, man. I can't believe she actually put that up!"

"That's you?" Jean asked, incredulous.

Eren nodded. "Yeah, I was a fat kid. How didn't you recognise me, dude? We've grown up together. You're gonna tell me I haven't changed at all?"

He had. He had changed. How hadn't Jean seen that? Of course Eren had changed. He didn't look overweight anymore, he looked perfect, with even a nice amount of visible muscle. He'd changed himself. He'd done that to himself because he had goals, and he had dreams, and he had what it takes to want to do something for yourself and actually achieve it.

Jean could do it. If Eren could do it, Jean could do it. He could lie his way through meals, he could afford a gym membership; he could loose so much weight that having fat baby pictures mounted on the wall wouldn't make him feel bad. He could be proud.

"You have changed. You've changed a lot, honestly."

And so will I.

_So will I._

* * *

 

"Jean! Jean, baby, listen to me! Please stay awake! Please don't leave us, okay? We love you, I love you Jean I fucking love you don't you leave me!"

Jean's body felt numb. His fingertips were icy cold, and it felt as though his heart had stopped beating all together. Where was he, even? Oh well. It didn't matter. If only those fucking flashing lights would go away so he could close his eyes and rest off the dizziness.

He thought he'd be used to it right now. It was 2013. He'd felt like this for nearly two years, if the first time Eren had to take him to hospital where they fed him through a tube didn't count. Surely he had to be used to it. How long would it take for his body to accept that he didn't want to accept it? 

"Ma'am, we're going to have to ask you to step away. He's loosing consciousness."

"No! Baby, please! Please stay awake, you're going to be okay, Jean I love you!"

Jean swallowed, before the world around him began to spin faster. _Mom...I love you too. I think- I think I'm sorry._

I'm sorry.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
